Dramione: A Puzzling Encounter
by sonotawallflower
Summary: What would have happened if Draco Malfoy had fallen for the very mudblood he so disliked? An encounter in the library, a mysterious voice, and a twisted past all lead to a budding romance...if i can get my lazy butt up to that much writing-comment!
1. Dramione 1: A puzzling encounter

Hermione Granger sat on a small, black-cushioned window seat, a stack of books piled mile-high beside her. Her long, wavy mane of brown hair fell across her face as she gazed fixedly at the page in front of her, and she reached up to pull it back behind her ear, exposing dark brown eyes, deep set beneath furrowed brows. All around, the library was quiet and empty- all the other students had already gone up to bed, their eyelids heavy from staring at the long scrolls and tiny script given out by the Hogwarts professors. A few candles were the only sources of light in the huge hall, and they illuminated the heavy snowflakes that fell just out side the window, dancing and twirling past the frosted panes. This was her favorite corner of the library, off in a small, deserted side-room where no one ever bothered to come. A few feet away from her, the bookshelves began, these filled with fiction and fantasy, their tall shelves looming high above Hermione's down-turned head. Behind that, at the very back of the room, a winding spiral staircase led up to a small landing, where, at that moment, a boy was sitting, staring intentely down at the reading girl. His white-blonde mop of hair caught the moonlight, and he smiled, his hands clasped around his bent knees.

Draco Malfoy watched as Hermione finished her book, closing the heavy, leather-bound pages with a derisive snap. She immediately began stuffing it back into her bag, a frown creasing her usually happy face. She stopped suddenly, and Draco tensed, worrying that she might have heard him in the silence. But then she sighed, and placed the book back on her lap, staring longingly at its yellowed pages, her frown deepening into a look of sadness that marred her otherwise pretty face. Draco smiled, and relaxed once more. He knew the source of Hermione's discomfort- this happened every time she finished a particularly good book, and this one she had been working on for weeks. He had often heard her break into sudden peals of laughter when one of the characters did something heroic or funny, and when her favorite character died in the last chapter, tears had begun to run down her slim face, and she had begun to sob, needing a full box of tissues just to get her through the scene. Draco had wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't very well do that without giving away his hiding place, let alone letting her know who he was. "She musn't know" he thought now, looking sadly at Hermione's frowning face.

There had been a day, a few years back, when they had all been in Hogsmeade, at one of those rare times when the sun shone through the snow and left rainbows reflected in the Lake; if you looked hard enough through the litter, you could see the Giant Squid swimming around in the frozen depths. Draco had been sitting on one edge of the lake's stone rim, watching as Crab and Goyle, one pudgy and short, one tall and muscled, played catch with a first year's toad, tossing it back and forth over the little boy's tawny-colored head. Draco had seen it happen enough times to know what would come next, and he anticipated the moment at which one of the two- this time it was Crab, his round face gleaming with malice- took the toad and flung it into the lake, where it hopped away on the thin ice. The first year wailed in defeat, leaning halfway over the rail as he watched his beloved toad disappearing across the ice. Draco watched the toad as jumped along, soon reaching the far side of the rim. As he watched, a girl came into view, walking on the ice as if it were no danger at all. She wore a colorful knit hat atop a long brown braid that whipped around as she turned to glare at Draco.

"You know, you're just as bad as them. I know you think you're above them just because they do the dirty work while you sit back and watch- but you're just at their level, not even raising a finger to stop them torturing a first year." She picked up the toad and pivoted on her toe, stomping away angrily across the ice. She stopped halfway and

turned back to him, disappointment now mixed with the anger on her face. She lowered her voice, and Draco had t.o strain to hear what she said next, although he tried to look nonchalant. "You know, it's too bad, because when I first came here, I thought there might be something underneath that mean front you put on for your so-called friends" She said, her scowl deepening. "I guess I was wrong." He opened his mouth, as If to call her back, but then shut it once more. He watched, unmoving, as she handed the first-year his toad, then walked furiously away in the direction of Hogsmeade. He had had nothing to say, knowing she was right, knowing that he had no grounds on which to argue, and at the same time, liking the way the light had hit her face as she had yelled at him, the way the snow had stuck in her eyelashes and hair, the hurt look in her eyes as she had walked away, how she had actually _noticed_ him…. In the distance, he saw Potter and Weasley join her, striding side by side into the little village, their laughs rising into the snowy afternoon sky.

Recalling this, Draco sneered into the darkness as he thought of all the other times he had seen Potter walking with Hermione, touching her arm, holding her hand, as if he were somehow deserving of her. He had only been in the right place at the right time, and yet he was able to be near her every day, so easily. It stayed in the back of his mind, and whenever the Potter boy was near him, He felt feverish and angry, lashing out like a knife in the dark, with no direct point or wish, other than to hurt, to scar Potter as badly as Draco himself had been scarred. He cringed in his alcove, clutching his arm as he remembered his aunt, Bellatrix, carving into his skin with her needles, leaving behind the awful ink- a tattoo that served as a constant reminder to Draco that he belonged to the shadows, the freaks on the other side. Someone like him, so dangerous and bad could never belong with someone like Hermione, who was, herself, such a driving force of light and goodness. He smiled ruefully to himself, staring out into the cold night beyond the icy windowpanes. He ran his index finger down the glass, frost gathering on his fingertip, barely visible against his pale skin. Draco brought the finger to his lips, and, leaning over slightly, blew softly, sending the flakes flurrying down onto Hermione, sitting far below. She was still staring down at her beloved book, and, seeing the flakes land gently on the dark leather, she looked up in wonderment, searching for the source. Seeing nothing, she laughed, a nice, happy sound, and returned to her packing with more enthusiasm. he sat back, leaning his head against the cold window and closing his eyes, smiling. He had made her laugh- this was enough for him.

Draco looked down once more, to where Hermione was now staring out the window at the real snowstorm happening outside in the pitch darkness of the grounds. He leaned forward, knowing all too well the far-away look on her face. She was still caught up in the mysterious world of her book, no doubt wishing she could belong to such a place, instead of this one, so tragic and hard. Or maybe that was only himself putting words in her mouth, Draco thought, thinking of how happy Hermione always was. She might not wish for another life, he realized, frowning. Not like him.

The grandfather clock by the door began to chime suddenly, and Draco was startled out of his reverie, nearly falling from his high perch. Catching himself at the last minute, he leaned backwards to keep his balance, at the same time, pulling upwards on the railing to haul his lower half back onto the little platform. Winded, he succeeded in readjusting himself, letting out a loud gasp before clapping his hands across his mouth in horror, realizing his mistake. Hermione's head snapped around, and she looked straight into the darkness where he was hidden, obscured by shadow.

"Who's there?" She asked, her voice trembling, but with undertones of crossness at being pulled out of her fantasy. Draco silently cursed himself by every awful thing he knew, hoping beyond hope that Hermione would forget about him and turn back to the window, as if she had never heard. He briefly contemplated a memory charm, but dismissed that thought, knowing how unpredictable the results of the spell could be. Instead, he remained quiet, trying his best to fade into the wall behind him.

"I heard you! Just come out already, whoever you are!" Hermione's voice still trembled, but now she sounded really angry, as if she had realized that whoever was there must have been watching her the whole time to have made no noise at all. The candles had mostly gone out by now, and she sat in the flickering light, waiting. Draco braced himself, then spoke, quietly, into the near-darkness.

" What strange weather we're having in the library. Inside snow-storms- most unusual." He spoke with a slightly deeper voice than his own, strengthening his accent and thickening his tone. He looked down at Hermione, ready for more frowns and disgust, but to his surprise, he found her smiling, and staring around in confused delight.

"So that was you!" she said, laughing softly. "I was beginning to think I was imagining things!" Draco smiled in wonder, unable to register the fact that she hadn't sneered at him, hadn't pushed him away.

"It wouldn't exactly be a wonder, what with the hours you keep." He concentrated, keeping his voice in the same deep register. "If I read like you do, I'd sleep right through bloomin' breakfast." Hermione laughed again, the smile lighting up her whole face in the soft candlelight.

"So what kept you up to this ungodly hour, then, if it wasn't reading?" She peered curiously into the darkness, searching for movement.

"Ah, but I'm not still up, see" Draco said, having to work to keep the smile out of his voice. "I'm sleeptalking." Hermione chuckled.

"I see. So what brings you down to this little corner of the library. Are you dreaming about rare fantasy books, perhaps? Or just disused alcoves…." She squinted, still trying to see through the dark into his hiding place. Finding nothing, she sat back, smiling.

"None of the above. My friends say I'm a terrible conversationalist while I'm asleep. They kicked me out." They continued back and forth in this way for another few minutes, until Hermione glanced at the clock and gasped.

"Oh no!" She began hurriedly gathering up her books and stuffing them into her battered shoulder-bag. "I'm sorry, I'll have to go if I want to get any astronomy homework done at all! I'd quite forgot, but I've a full scroll of moon charts due tomorrow…" She paused, looking up once more into the shadows where Draco sat. "I don't think I caught your name, Mr. Sleepwalker." he frowned.

"That's all right. I'm a terribly bad catcher myself." He said. Hermione smiled and shook her head, her long brown hair waving back and forth.

"Well, I suppose I can let it remain a mystery for now….but be sure that I'll get it out of you tomorrow! I'm awfully good at solving puzzles." Still smiling, she strode out of the library, calling over her shoulder as she went, "Good night, whoever you are!"

"Yes, a very good night." Draco agreed quietly. Then he picked up his wand and his books, walking silently down the spiral stairs and out of the cozy room. As he walked carefully along the corridors, wand outstretched incase anything he happened to stumble into anything unpleasant, he felt his way along the wall, blind in the pitch darkness. He reached the Slytherin common room without incident, and as he lay down on his four- poster bed, he smiled to himself, watching the snow still falling outside his window. He imagined it falling onto Hermione's upturned face as she sat in the library, laughing just for him.


	2. Dramione 2: A broken mirror

Hermione stood in front of the mirror of Erised, her eyes downcast and a terrible frown creasing her face. In the foggy glass, an image was flickering, seeming to grow smaller as she turned away, wishing the thought down deeper into the recesses of her brain. In the reflection, Hermione stood in the same moonlit room, the same moon outside the window, the same cracked flagstone floor; but one thing differed in the strange reflection; behind the figure of Hermione in the mirror stood a boy. His face was pale and slim, and his white-blonde hair fell lightly over one grey eye. He was a good head taller than her, and his chin rested lightly on the top of her head. The boy's long hands were clasped around her waist, and he was holding her as if he never planned to let go. He smiled slightly, staring out at her from beneath pale lashes.

The real Hermione turned back to the mirror, gasping a little as she glimpsed him, his smile, his long build, encircling the mirror-her with such ease. Sighing, she slumped back against the stonewall, removing her strappy high-heeled shoes and rubbing her bruised feet while still watching the mirror out of the corner of her eye. She was sore from dancing- the ball had been one big whirl of color, and she had danced nearly the whole time without stopping, laughing and drinking butterbeer until she had suddenly felt sick and had come to this deserted wing. Not even Harry knew the new location of the mirror- he believed it had been sent away first year- but accepting this for a solid fact had not been enough for Hermione, and she had tracked it down mercilessly, desperate to see what her deepest, darkest secret might be. She herself had never gotten a chance, first year, to actually look in, and she had so wanted- no, needed- to try. But now, looking into the famed glass, she was appalled to see what her subconscious had been hiding. Draco Malfoy? How could she wish for someone like him? And why did she look so happy in the reflection? So….content? She reached out to touch the glass, and her reflection, now sitting as she was against the stone wall, reached out at the same time, their fingertips meeting at the cold barrier between the two places; reflection and reality. Mirror-Malfoy had now crouched down beside her reflection, and was sitting with his head back, simply watching her.

"I love you," he said, murmuring and leaning forward, a hand on her shoulder, entwined in her long brown hair. The real Hermione glared and made a noise like an injured animal, and in a fit of fury, took the spiky shoe held in her left hand and threw it straight at the smiling illusion. The mirror broke with a noise like a shriek and tiny, spiderweb-like cracks spread out from the spot where a shiny purple heel now protruded from the glass. A footstep behind her made Hermione, already jumpy from the crash of the mirror, leap backward in fear, searching for any possible assailant. Tears were now flowing down her cheeks and she sniffled, staring into the shadows.

A long, wizened hand extended beside her, its wrinkled fingers covered in an array of rings, all of whose stones glittered strangely in the moonlight, a twinkling constellation. It held out a clean white handkerchief, which Hermione took without glancing at its bearer.

"Thank you." She said automatically, wiping her sodden face with it, a few sniffles still escaping from her lips.

"Ms. Granger." The owner of the handkerchief stepped into the light, and Hermione jumped back further, her eyes widening as Albus Dumbledore came into view, his long white beard glimmering like the rings on his hand.

"I'm so sorry, professor!" She trembled, looking down at her bare feet, and purposely away from the now-broken mirror. "I….well, I don't know what came over me-" She broke off, a lump rising in her throat and another sniff escaping.

"I do." She looked up into the kind face, laugh lines creasing the cheeks as Dumbledore smiled at her. "It's quite all right, I assure you. Or at least, if it's the welfare of the mirror of Arased to which you allude." He frowned then, but not in a berating way- it was more a look of sadness, and she felt sure that it was in fear for her own safety and not in disaprovement of her actions. "However, Ms. Granger, I am afraid that you may have set something into motion here." His frown deepened, and he strode over to the tall cracked glass, worry etched in his dark eyes. Placing a hand on the broken area, he stroked his fingers down across the pointed shards. Hermione watched in horror as blood began to ooze from the new cuts on the old wizard's fingers and palm. He continued to stroke the mirror, paying the injury no mind as he muttered under his breath, repeatedly, seeming to search for something beneath the reflective surface of the cracks and holes.

"Professor Dumbledore! Your hand…there's so much blood!" Surprised out of his reverie, Dumbledore glanced down at the offending cuts, and, as if noticing it for the first time, chuckled at in wonder.

"My, I am getting old! Ms. Granger, if you ever live to 150, you will stop noticing pain as well, I'm sure." Hermione bit her lip and looked between the bleeding old wizard and the door in panic.

"I'll go get a bandage!" She said, already starting toward the corridor.

"No need!" Dumbledore called after her, and she turned to see him with a wand point held to his injured hand, the torn skin already closing up around it. A strange yellow ribbon of light radiated from the tip of his wand, and it formed bands of healing light, much like magical stitches, across the open wound.

"Of course, how silly of me." She said, relaxing. "I seem toward to be making a lot of stupid mistakes lately." Hermione sighed, looking toward the professor, who had resumed his muttering. He broke off suddenly, turning to her, a grim expression covering his kind face.

"I'm afraid that you _have_ made one very real mistake, my dear." He too sighed, and stared concernedly out at her confused face. "And I'm afraid it appears to be rather more serious than I would have hoped."


End file.
